Wicked Truths (Hunt Legacy Duology #2) - Jodi Ellen Malpas Page 0,151

hyperventilating.

‘Shit,’ I push myself away from Becker’s desk in the chair and throw my head between my knees. The breeze that gusts past my forehead tells me I only just missed the edge of the wood in my haste. I’m momentarily disappointed. Knocking myself out seems like my best option right now. Maybe I’ll wake up in twenty-five years’ time when Becker is released from prison and my life can resume.

I stare down at my bare feet. My bright-red toenails seem dull. Everything around me seems dull. My life is dull.

Because he’s not here.

My bottom lip begins to tremble as another wave of tears stream forward. Fighting them back requires strength that I just do not have, so I let them defeat me and watch as drop after drop of my tattered emotions plummets to the carpet by my bare feet, creating only the tiniest of splashes before the thick fibres swallow them up. My shoulders begin to jerk, and I remain slumped, bent over in Becker’s office chair, waiting for this episode of grief to pass. I feel small and useless. Pathetic and weak. I don’t do weak and pathetic.

I take my shaky hands to my cheeks and brush the streams of tears away, but no sooner have I dried my face, another waterfall replaces it.

The apple.

Sniffling and wiping my nose, I shoot up and search out the perfect fruit. Just focus on the apple. I swallow, my eyes narrowing and homing in on the green skin, my gaze so concentrated I wouldn’t be surprised if the apple shot off the desk. I hear the clean crunch of a perfect set of white teeth biting into the flesh, the rip as a sinful mouth pulls it away, the wet motions of it being seductively chewed and swallowed. I begin to see all of these things, too, and my eyes close, welcoming the distraction.

There he is. In my mind’s eye, bare-chested and indulging in his most favourite thing. He won’t have free access to any apples in prison, and if he does, they won’t be bright green, they won’t have juice spots, and they’ll probably have no crunch. He’ll never survive.

The thought makes me mad, and my fist comes down on the desk hard, the shock travelling up my arm.

‘Eleanor, whatever are you doing?’

My lids spring open and find Mrs Potts holding the office door open, her eyes wide with alarm. She’s not shown a scrap of emotion since she watched Becker being carted away by the police, has barely even spoken about it. I’ve had no one to share my burden with.

I blink through my blurred vision as I brush away some strands of my hair that have stuck to my damp cheeks.

‘Come on, dear,’ she says sharply, marching over to the desk. ‘We’ll be having none of that nonsense.’ She pulls me to my feet and forces me to face her, and I fall apart all over again, shaking in her grasp. She’s made of stone. She must be. Roughly wiping at my cheeks while I snivel and sob before her, she rolls her eyes. ‘Now you listen here, young lady.’ She gives me a tight face, but her harshness doesn’t lessen the emotion overtaking me. I’m a wreck. ‘You will pull yourself together and be the woman he fell in love with.’ She cocks an eyebrow and purses her lips, saying more with that look. ‘Now then.’ She nods her approval to her own words and takes a quick peek at my pathetic form. Becker’s T-shirt is drowning me, but the smell is so comforting. ‘Look at the state of you.’

I say nothing. I have nothing to say. I wouldn’t get any words past the lump of grief blocking my throat, anyway.

She pulls at the material of the T-shirt and takes in my bare legs. ‘Have you showered?’

I nod pitifully.

‘Maybe so, but I know for a fact that you’ve not eaten.’

‘I’m not hungry,’ I murmur flatly, the thought of food making me come over all queasy. And panicky. Becker won’t have free access to his apples. He needs his apples. ‘Oh God, I need to get him out!’ I turn and make for the door, my earlier silent claim, the one where I told myself I’m not being irrational, being flattened with every step I take. I’m being totally irrational now.

‘What are you gonna do, dig him out?’

My bare feet skid to a stop, and I whirl around, offended and annoyed by her snarky quip. I should